“When did he die? How?”
The professor looked slightly shocked at her interruption, but only smiled a little and shook his head.
“We don’t know exactly. We know Giovanni Pico died in Ferrara in 1494, but there is no record of him leaving an extensive library at his home, and he died under rather mysterious circumstances. As he had no heirs, it’s probable that his library was taken by his family, the Mirandolas. It would have been theirs unless Pico had made other endowments.”
Beatrice nodded, even more confused. “Thanks…sorry, Dr. Scalia. I don’t mean to be rude, it’s just…”
“Quite all right, my dear. I do love students who show curiosity such as yours. It makes teaching so rewarding.”
She saw Charlotte watching her with narrowed eyes and was glad her shift would be over soon. As she walked back to check the dehumidifier, her mind whirled, more confused than ever by the pieces of a puzzle that seemed stubbornly jumbled in her mind.
She was heating a can of soup on the stove when Giovanni entered the kitchen that night. He was wearing a black shirt and jacket with a pair of pressed black slacks. As always, he looked amazing and Beatrice looked away, trying to ignore the instant reaction she always had to him.
“Good evening, Beatrice.”
She smirked. “Going for the real inconspicuous ‘no, I’m not a deadly creature of the night’ look, are we?”
“Pardon?”
She raised an eyebrow and glanced back, looking him up and down. “It’s Friday, right? Dinner time? Do chicks dig the whole man-in-black thing?”
He looked at her and cocked his head. “Do you really want to talk about this?”
She thought for a moment, and then shook her head. “No, probably not.”
“I have to go out.” A small smile teased the corner of his lips. “Unless you’re offering, of course, then I could just skip the clubs. Much more convenient.” He winked at her as he put his keys in his pocket.
She rolled her eyes and looked down at the stove, surprised and amused by his unusually flirtatious mood. “See this? It’s soup. Soup is food.” She looked back at him. “See me? I’m me, and I’m not food. Any questions?”
He smirked and looked her up and down. For a minute, she wanted to blush at his frank perusal. The appreciative look in his eye almost made her reconsider, but then she remembered the vicious bite marks on her grandmother’s neck, and decided to stick with her first answer.
“Oh, Beatrice, I have many questions, but I’m not going to find an answer tonight, am I?”
It was far more suggestive than she had come to expect from him, and she figured it must have something to do with his hunger. She really didn’t want to think about it all that much.
“You’re in some kind of mood, aren’t you?” she muttered, trying to ignore the flutters in her stomach as she stirred the pot on the stove.
She heard him take a deep breath, and she had a feeling he wasn’t smelling the soup. Cursing, she glanced over her shoulder and caught him watching her. He definitely looked hungry, she just wasn’t sure for what.
She cleared her throat and took a deep breath.
“Go, do your vampire thing. Don’t kill anyone, okay?”
“I never do.” He was still watching her, and she could see his fangs peeking out from behind his lips. She could feel her temperature rise when his eyes were on her.
“Gio!”
“Hmm?” He looked a bit startled, but stopped studying her ass like it contained the mysteries of the universe and met her eyes.
“Go, you need to…eat. I’ll be here when you get back.”
“Right.” He cleared his throat and she caught him glancing at her neck. “Right. I’ll just…be back later.”
“Later.”
“Right.”
“Bye.”
And he finally slipped out the door.
Taking a deep breath, she turned back to the stove.
“You do not want the insanely attractive vampire to kiss you, B. Nope, you don’t. Just ignore that reaction and…” She trailed off as she remembered the sight of his long, muscular legs, defined waist, and broad shoulders as he cut through the pool the night before.
She let out a sigh and shook her head.
“Nope. You most definitely do not want him to bite you. And he’s just hungry, anyway. He’s not flirting with you, it’s just your blood. It’s a normal, natural-”
She gasped when she heard the door slam. Giovanni spun her around, pulling her into his arms before his mouth crashed down and his arm encircled her waist. He pushed her up against the cabinets and his other hand grasped the back of her neck. His hard body pushed against her own, and his arms lifted her against the counter. She gave in to her own desire and moaned into his mouth, tangling one hand in the dark curls at the nape of his neck as the soup spoon dangled uselessly from her other hand.
Giovanni kissed her for a few heated moments, stealing her breath and causing her head to swim. His fang nicked her lip and she felt his tongue swipe at the trickle of blood near the corner of her mouth before he gave a deep groan and pulled away.
He stared into her eyes, panting before he bent down to whisper in her ear.
“It’s not just your blood.”
She whimpered in the back of her throat, and his hands drifted down to her waist, squeezing once before he was out the door again.
This time, she stared at the kitchen door until she heard his Mustang roar down the drive. After a few moments, Carl and his partner began patrolling the grounds, and she saw the guard’s familiar face pass by the window in the kitchen.
She was still breathing heavily when she heard the soup hiss on the stove.
“Damn it!”
He returned to the house three hours later, looking flushed. His eyes had lost the hungry look from earlier in the night, but she still felt them as he walked into the living room. Beatrice had raided Caspar’s cache of old horror movies; she was pondering whether their earlier kiss was something they needed to talk about.
Or possibly repeat.
She saw him sit down in his chair, which she often stole during the day because it was, by far, the most comfortable in the room. He took a deep breath and glanced at her.
“It’s very odd.”
“What is?”
He frowned a little and stared at the television. “Your scent is all over my house. Everywhere I go, I can smell you.”
She cleared her throat, feeling suddenly self-conscious and wondering whether she needed to check her deodorant more often. “Sorry.”
“No need to apologize.” He shrugged. “You smell lovely. It’s just different. Having you here. It’s…nice.”
They watched the rest of the movie in silence. Beatrice had turned the volume down so she could hear the comforting sounds of Carl and his partner as they patrolled the grounds.
“How was dinner?” she asked nonchalantly.
“Do you really want to know?”
She didn’t. She didn’t even know why she asked, and she shoved aside the irrational spurt of jealousy. “No, not really.”
“Stale. Boring.” He gave her a heated look. “Merely adequate.”
“I said I didn’t want to know, Gio.”
“Well, maybe I want to tell you, Beatrice.”
“Why?” She scowled. “Why do I need to know about that shit?”
“It’s not always done in anger,” he murmured, and she glanced back to the almost silent television screen. “Sometimes, it’s done purely for sustenance, because a vampire needs blood to survive. Sometimes it is done in anger, but sometimes, it can be highly pleas-”
“I’m going up to my room.” She shut off the movie and stood.
“You need to change your clothes. We’re going out.”
She spun around on her way to the stairs. “What? Why? Where are we going?”